One Saturday, in midsummer, Thore Pladsen rowed across the lake to meet his son, who was expected to arrive that afternoon from the agricultural school, where he had finished his course.

The mother had hired women several days beforehand, and everything was scoured and clean.

The bedroom had been put in order some time before, a stove had been set up, and there Oyvind was to be.

To-day the mother carried in fresh greens, laid out clean linen, made up the bed, and all the while kept looking out to see if, perchance, any boat were coming across the lake.

A plentiful table was spread in the house, and there was always something wanting, or flies to chase away, and the bedroom was dusty,--continually dusty.